


And What a Wave Must Be

by goldenmeme



Category: Gorillaz
Genre: Gen, plastic beach
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-16
Updated: 2013-01-16
Packaged: 2017-11-25 17:36:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/641349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goldenmeme/pseuds/goldenmeme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nothing exists without contrast. 2D and the Cyborg spend a day on the beach. No pairings.</p><p>(Originally posted on ff.net under the penname Nebbity. That's me!)</p>
            </blockquote>





	And What a Wave Must Be

It was a beautiful day on Plastic Beach. 

The sun was shining, the waters were calm, and Murdoc was still passed out from his radio show the night before. The Cyborg had let 2D out of his room for the day once she’d gotten bored of tanning alone. They were settled on the dock, drinking fizzy lemonade and blithely pretending that they weren’t living in a dystopian nightmare.

There was a song in there somewhere, something with a ukulele and a filthy bass beat, if only Murdoc still let 2D write anything.

Still, 2D was enjoying himself for the first time since he’d been kidnapped. His feet were in the water and he’d gotten the pelican with the eating disorder to cough up a fishing pole. Beside him, the Cyborg was lazily putting sunscreen on her legs. She had on a tiny yellow bikini and a belt with three handguns and a flamethrower in it.

It suited her.

Something tugged on 2D’s line.

“I think I caught sumfink!” he said, reeling it in.

Hooked to his line, wiggling madly in the air, was a soggy box of fish fingers.

“Hate this place,” he said. He carefully unhooked the box and threw it back. Maybe it would grow up to be a box of fish hands. “Everything’s fake here. Oh! No offence.”

The Cyborg gazed at him, unimpressed, as she rubbed lotion into her calf.

2D cast his line back into the water.

“Do my back,” the Cyborg said. She turned, pulled her hair across her shoulder, and blinked over her shoulder at him, the long line of her back suddenly seductive.

“Um,” 2D said. Murdoc had programmed her that way, all half-naked and flirty, because Murdoc was a tosser who thought that’s just how women naturally acted. It was taking a lot of adjustment for 2D, who had always thought of Noodle as his brainy little sister.

“All right,” he said anyway, and tried to put lotion on her back with his eyes closed, without actually touching her.

“Thank you,” she said once he’d finished. She stretched out on her stomach, and opened up the copy of Tiger Beat she’d brought out. It had that Justin Berby kid on the cover.

That was taking some getting used to, too. The real Noodle had a tradition of kicking Simon Cowl in the nose whenever their paths crossed. This one had a standing threat on 2D’s life if he didn’t record Britain’s Got Talent.

Still, pop proclivities, sluttiness, and sociopathy aside, she reminded 2D too much of the real Noodle. She looked just like her. Her mannerisms, the way she moved, were exactly the same. Murdoc had even once mentioned that she had Noodle’s memories.

“Hey,” 2D said. “Um. Robot Noodle?”

She turned her head to squint at him through her hair.

“Do you remember when we—me and the real you—used to watch, like, Marebito and VERSUS with subtitles, back when you still couldn’t speak English?”

“Yes,” she said.

“I always tried to put on Kiki’s Delivery Service or sumfink, yeah, because you was ten and I thought gore movies’d make you grow up to be a serial killer or a politician or sumfink horrible. But you always threw Smarties at my head until I put on Odishon.”

“She liked Odishon.”

“She who?”

“My source.”

“Oh,” 2D said. He jiggled his fishing pole around a bit. “Right. But you’ve got the same memories, yeah, so it’s sort of like you’re still her, except all… robot-y?”

“That is incorrect,” she said. She sounded exactly like Noodle when she explained things, articulate and patient and sweet. “My source’s memories are stored as fact. What might have been a fond memory to her, to me it is no more emotionally significant than accessing the instructions on how a doorknob functions, and considerably less useful.”

“So you’re the kind of robot that doesn’t have emotions?”

“I am capable of them, but any emotion that I may experience is entirely my own, not a remnants of my source material.”

“All right,” 2D said. He thought he understood what she was saying, but like Noodle, she spoke quickly as used very big words. 

He said, “Do you miss being a person?” 

She stared at him through her hair, silent.

2D said, “I mean, is it all right, being a robot? You’re all right? I don’t think I’d like it, not being happy about remembering things and disrupting radio signals and having me insides made up of broken iPods. Unless I got laser eyes. That’d be pretty wicked. Have you got laser eyes?”

She said, “The facade of my eyes employ lasers to read the visual queues of my surroundings.”

“All right,” 2D said. “D’you mean, no?”

“Not in the capacity to which you are implying,” she said. “As for my existence, I cannot reliably compare it to that of my source, as I never truly was her. I enjoy my existence in as far as I understand what enjoyment is, but how can one truly compare to that which they have never known? Do androids dream of electronic sheep?”

She shrugged.

2D said, ”Do they?” 

“No.”

“Oh.”

“Most nights I dream that my source has returned and Mr. Murdoc has decided to turn me back into a series of iPods.”

“That’s terrible,” 2D said. Then, because he felt the need to share after that, “I had a dream that Snoop Dog got into my room and ate all my crisps. But that turned out to not be a dream after all.”

“Mm,” the Cyborg said. “I enjoyed Mister Snoop Dog’s company very much. He invited me back to his helicopter after he had finished laying down his tracks, at which point he suggested that he would like to lay me down instead, and—“

2D covered his ears and started scream-singing, “Twinkle, twinkle, pink stink fish, your mum wound up in a dish. It was only target practice, I am… covered in… cactus… needles…” He tentatively lowered his hands.

“… surprisingly flexible for ball-socket joints!” the Cyborg finished brightly.

“I wish you hadn’t told me that,” 2D said. “I’m going to have to challenge Snoop Dog to fistycuffs the next time I see him, and he’s going to have to have me killed.”

“I will protect you,” the Cyborg said.

“Aw, that’s sweet.”

“No. I have been ordered to protect you. You may only die if it is in the process of escaping Plastic Beach, at which point I am allowed to shoot you.”

She said allowed to as if shooting him was a reward for good behavior.

2D tried to figure out how to look like he actively wasn’t trying to escape. He sat up very straight and said, “Oh, well, at least you’ve got your priorities straight.”

They lapsed into silence.

After a while, the Cyborg flipped onto her back and, Tiger Beat finished, opened up a copy of Guns and Ammo.

In the distance, an eyestalk popped out of the water, blinked at them for a few moments, and then submerged again.

There was something on the horizon. Two little black spots, weaving lazily around each other and growing closer at an alarming rate.

“Um,” 2D said. He nudged the Cyborg. She didn’t glance away from her magazine, but batted half-heartedly at his poking elbow. “Um, Noodle? Big. Scary… Death’a’copter thingies.”

She did look up then, toward where the pirate’s helicopters were starting to take shape in the smog.

She said, “They are early today,” and stood up calmly, pulling out two revolvers. She pointed them at 2D and, after a moment, gestured with them toward the building.

“Oh, are we fleeing?” 2D asked, pleasantly surprised. He threw his pole into the water where the pelican could find and eat it again, and started toward the building. The Cyborg followed with guns pointed at his back. “I thought maybe you was going to try to shoot at them like a nutter.”

“We will need the bigger guns to shoot them,” she said. “Faster.”

The hum of the helicopter blades was getting louder; there was a clatter as the first hail of bullets shot into the water; 2D broke into a frantic, arm-flailing run.

The lobby was empty. Tattoo was probably on one of the other islands on which he comically greeted people for tips. 

The Cyborg marched 2D into the elevator and pressed the button to the engine room. Once there, she led him to a little cupboard tucked underneath the stairs. It was crammed full of weapons; machine guns and grenade launchers and, lining the back wall, a dozen missiles twice as tall as 2D. There were crates with cryptic, vaguely apocalyptic symbols on them, and more types of guns than 2D knew existed.

In one corner was a mess of unplugged wires, under which sat a discarded pair of pink trainers with cat faces painted on the toes. There was a yellow Fender Tele propped against the wall.

“This is your room?” 2D asked.

The Cyborg ignored him, checking the magazine on her rifle and hooking grenades to her belt.

“It’s… nice,” 2D said. He cautiously leaned against a crate with the words _This End Down_ written across the top, above an arrow that pointed in a circle.

In the opposite wall, embedded in concrete, there was a series of bullet holes in the shape of a frowny face.

Back at Kong, they’d all agreed to give Noodle the nicest room in the entire studio. It had actually been Murdoc’s idea. It had actually been Murdoc’s room, but he’d pretended that he’d been planning to move into the Winnebago all along anyway. None of them had really known what to do with the little girl who’d suddenly landed in their laps, but they’d always tried their best to do right by her.

Now she was sharing a cupboard with a nuclear warhead. 

The Cyborg shoved a mess of ammo into 2D’s arms and said, “Hurry, or we will miss them.”

“Oh, yeah, wouldn’t want to miss the flying machines of death.”

He followed her back up.

The helicopters were still buzzing angry circles around the island when they made it to the lobby. The Cyborg headed straight for the door, rifle ready.

There was an ungodly clatter as a helicopter fired a stripe of bullets against the building.

“Wait!” 2D said automatically.

She paused with her hand on the doorknob.

“They’ll kill you,” 2D said.

“Mr. Murdoc will have me repaired,” she said. She sounded so sure, it bordered on worship.

She flung open the door and ran out, firing before the door had swung closed again.

2D huddled close to the door, listening for anything that might indicate that she’d been hurt, but all he heard was almost ceaseless gunfire, one shot indistinguishable from the next. He pulled the door open the slightest crack, just enough to peer through, to see a sporadic flash of black when one of the helicopters passed by.

A hand reached through the crack in the door. It made an impatient gesture until 2D dropped a fresh clip into it.

There were more horrific sounds outside, crashing and shattering and explosions. 2D kept handing the Cyborg fresh clips whenever she reached through the doorway. 

After the third one, there was a loud explosion, followed by a splash. 

There was silence.

“2D!” the Cyborg called.

Cautiously, 2D nudged the door open and peeked out.

One of the helicopters was flying away, as quickly as it had come. The other was sinking in the water a ways away from the beach, bleeding black smoke into the air, propeller still turning in spurts. 2D tried not to look hard enough to notice the shine of sun through red stained glass. 

The Cyborg was watching the fleeing helicopter, rifle over one shoulder and a smile on her face.

She looked happy.

It was terrifying.

That was another disquieting difference between her and Noodle. Noodle had always smiled aggressively, with all of her teeth bared, a challenge, as if she expected someone to try to stop her and she was fully prepared to defend her happiness.

The Cyborg smiled simply and innocently, like a girl who grew up beyond all sorrow, but she only did it right after she’d killed someone.

She said, “That is the fifteenth helicopter I have shot down in that exact patch of water! Mr. Murdoc believes that within the year, Plastic Beach will have a sister island made entirely of broken helicopters. He said that I may have it as long as I rule it with an iron fist.”

2D said, “Yay.”

She smiled beatifically at him, positively glowing in the sunlight. Her silicone skin had picked up a healthy golden tan. It must have been something about the Plastic Beach sun; 2D, who normally turned all red at the mere threat of sunlight, had gone a suspicious orangey colour. 

2D said, “Do you remember when Noodle wrote Kids with Guns?”

The Cyborg’s smile froze, and then wilted. She said, “Yes.”

She looked brittle suddenly, in her little yellow bikini and her giant gun, empty shell casings skittering around her bare feet like beetles.

2D said, “Do you remember why she wrote it?”

She said, “That is a noble sentiment when one does not have anything that must be protected. You should return to your room now.”

“But—“

“Thank you for spending the day with me, but I must now report the attack to Mr. Murdoc, and you must go to your room.”

She stared out at the beach, and though her eyes were hidden, the tilt of her jaw said that she was watching the sea.

In the water, the last branch of propeller sunk from view.

2D went.


End file.
